


This Love

by BrevityIsTheSoulOfLingerie



Series: This Love [1]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 06:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14587041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrevityIsTheSoulOfLingerie/pseuds/BrevityIsTheSoulOfLingerie
Summary: Beca and Chloe admit their feelings for each other, they have sex.  They have the day off work, they have sex. They get engaged, they have sex.  They find a parking spot at the mall on Black Friday, they - kidding, but you get the idea.





	1. The First Time - Part 1

 

“Hey, it’s Beca,” I say through the Bluetooth speaker in my car.  

It’s just after 7 a.m. and I’m leaving the city, heading upstate to my parents for the long holiday weekend.  They’ve got a pool and I’m so looking forward to relaxing on some giant float with a G&T in my hand and 80s music on the outside speakers.

“Hey, it’s Chloe,”

“Chloe?  Hey!  How are you?”

Chloe Beale is an up and coming film actress, who has agreed to star in the screenplay I just finished.  It hasn’t even been bought by a studio yet, but she loves the story and who am I to argue?

“I’m OK.”

“Where are you?  LA?

“Yeah.”

I glance at the car’s clock.  “Wait, isn’t it like 4 a.m. there?  Do you have an early call time or something?”

“No, no.”  She sounds distracted, but hey, she called me.  “Not until, uh, 9 I think.”

“OK, don’t get me wrong.  You know I love talking to you, Chlo, but why are you calling me so early?  Is everything OK?”

Chloe and I have met face-to-face about seven times, but we call and text a lot.  A lot more than a screenwriter and the actress who’s starring in said writer’s screenplay probably should.  What can I say?  The chemistry between us was undeniable from the word go.  It’s weird.  Chloe’s weird.  Not in a bad way.  Not at all.   But I can’t quite figure her out.  More accurately, I can’t quite figure out how I should react to her.  She somehow manages to be cute and sweet and innocent while she’s being hot and sexy and even a little dirty.  I’ll be honest – it twists my insides a bit.  She’s an unabashed flirt.  It’s like a sport with her. She likes to touch my hand when she talks or link her arm with mine when she laughs. And some of the things she says. I can’t stop replaying them, chewing over the innuendo and plucking away at whether the double entendre was intentional, intended for me, to make me, um, feel something. Or whether I’m just knee deep in emotions I can’t quite put my finger on yet, reading into what is really platonic conversation to stay afloat.   

“It’s fine.  I’m fine.   I’m, uh, I just have some things on my mind, and I can’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry.  That sucks.  I hate it when that happens.”

“Am I interrupting, by the way?  I’m sorry.  I didn’t even ask you.”

“I’m in the car, driving.  You’re not interrupting anything except lousy music.”

She giggles.  Jesus Christ.  Did I mention that Chloe giggles? It’s the cutest damn thing.  When she does it, I can’t help but smile like I’ve slept with a fucking hanger in my mouth.  And it’s one thing to hear her giggle over the phone; it’s completely another when we’re in person.  She’s got these incredible blue eyes that crinkle at the corners right before she unleashes that sweet laugh and as soon as I see it happen, I know what’s coming.  I know I’m a dead man (woman).  There’s no turning back.  Then she flashes this mega-watt smile and throws her head back, laughing, cascading a tidal wave of soft red curls that smell like the ocean.  And I die all over again. 

So it’s barely past 7 a.m. and I’m already being driven crazy (in a good way) by a disembodied voice – and giggle – coming through my car speakers.  It’s messed up, dude.

“Beca, did you hear me?  Are you there?”

Chloe snaps me out of my trance, and I wonder if she knows that I think about her.  I feel kind of ashamed.  I shouldn’t be doing that – whatever it is I’m doing.

Fantasizing?  No.  Pining?  Not quite.  Crushing?  OK, maybe.  Dammit.

“You there, Chloe?  Sorry.  It might be my reception.”

“I’m here.  I was just saying that I sent you a few emails last night.  Did you get them?”

“Uh…”

I look at my phone while trying to keep my eyes on the road.  Six new messages.  All from [ceebee1986@gmail.com](mailto:ceebee1986@gmail.com). 

“Way to spam me there, Chlo.  Are you trying to rope me into some pyramid scheme or something?”

There’s that giggle again.  I never thought I was this funny.  She apparently thinks otherwise.  I just go with it.

“I obviously didn’t have a chance to look at them. “

“It’s OK. They’re big files and I just wanted to make sure they made it through. It’s some music to consider for the film.”

“Oh yeah?  I’m excited.”

The first time we met, Chloe and I bonded over music.  She loves music.  So do I.  And she’s actually a pretty decent singer.  She listens to way different stuff than I do, but she is an encyclopedia and can probably name pretty much every song ever recorded within the first three seconds – artist, song title, album.   When she really loves a song, she twirls her hair around her finger and bites her bottom lip as if she’s trying to bite back that blinding smile. I’ve never been one for red-heads, but Chloe is in a league of her own with this beautiful fiery mane that falls in perfect, soft waves across the slow slope of her shoulders. Then, she starts to bop her head along to the beat.  If it’s a particularly deep bass, she won’t hesitate to jump up and start to dance.  On occasion I’ve been fortunate enough to be near her when she gets low and I don’t think I’ve ever sweat so much in my life.  I swear to God, her hips are attached with a swivel.  Elvis would be jealous, honestly.  And inevitably, her shirt always seem to cinch up to reveal a silver of skin – taut and tanned – above her waistband.  I can just make out the faint outline of her abs and, well, I don’t even like to dance but if it’s an opportunity to feel her move, to feel how soft she could be under me, I don’t waste any time joining her.

Alright….so maybe it is fantasizing.  Look, who asked anyway?

“Good. I hope you like them.”

“Any for the, uh, sex scene?”

“Actually, I included a few that I think could work.”

“Did you test them?” I tease. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I love her (did I just say that!?!) when she’s playful like this.

“I would.  That’s why I asked.”

“Mmm, I think I’m a pretty good judge.”

“So, you expect me to just take your word for it?”

“Well, how do you suggest we prove my theory, hmm?”   

Suddenly, it gets interesting.  Here’s the thing.  I think I really like Chloe.  Like _really_ like her, and admittedly, I’ve thought about her. I’ve thought about her in some not so PG situations.  So, as I see it, there’s really only two ways this can go.  I can keep the game going and give in to the flush in my face and the knot in my stomach, but the reality is that the likelihood of her thinking about me as anything more than a friend is slim.  I’d probably just freak her out and ruin whatever relationship we do have. Or, I can play the role of Boring McLiteral-Face and just answer her question.   

Much to my dismay, I take what’s behind door number two.  “I’ll listen when I get to my parents’ house and I’ll email you back later today.   I know you’ll probably be on set, though.”

“Oh, OK,” she actually sounds disappointed that I ended our little game.  “Well, I’ll be interested in your thoughts.”

And I know she means it.  Chloe is hot as hell, don’t get me wrong.  But she’s also incredibly smart and thoughtful.  She’s thoughtful in the “I went to get coffee and brought you one too” way, but also in the “introspective, contemplative” way.   So when she says, “I’m interested in your thoughts,” she doesn’t want to hear a simple “I liked it,” or “That sucked.”  She wants to have a discussion about the lyrics, and the beat and the arrangement. It’s like being in a college-level music theory class that, frankly, I’m not sure I’d pass.

“I’ll take detailed notes.”

“Good.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I sense that Chloe wants to say more.  I can’t take the silence, in part because I don’t know where this conversation is supposed to go from here.  I swerve over the double yellow line – it won’t be the first time – but pull back.  When it comes to Chloe, I’m not sure I’ll always be able to right myself so quickly.

“Hey?  Chloe?  Did I lose you?”

Out of nowhere, apropos of absolutely nothing, “When are you coming back to LA?”

“Um, I get in late Monday night.  Why?”

“Do you think we could have dinner on Tuesday?”

“Sure.  Is everything OK?”

“Yeah, I just…there are some things I want to talk about.”

“About the script, or…?”

“Um…Or...”

What the hell?

“You’re going to keep me in suspense until Tuesday?”

“I’m sorry, Beca.  I guess I feel better talking about it in person.”  She’s quiet, and then “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but I want to see you.”

She’s usually so open, upbeat and silly, so to hear her like this - I’ll go so far as to call it shy – is unusual and unsettling. Thank god I can’t see her because if she looks anything other than light and happy, I think it would kill me.

“You’re not backing out me are you?  At least tell me that much. Otherwise, I’ll be going crazy for four days, plus a six hour plane ride.”

“Nope. No way. I love the script. You know that. You’re stuck with me.”

“So, is something else bothering you?”

“It’s just uh, something that I’d like your opinion on, I guess.”

“Well, I’m intrigued.”

“Is that all?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious and maybe a little worried.”

“Aaaand…”

I’m not entirely sure what she wants to hear.  OK, I have an inkling, but no intention to actually verbalize it until, until it slips out on its own.  “And, I want to see you too, Chloe.  Of course.”

“Mm-hm,” she hums her approval. “But why’d you make me work for it?”

How does she do that? How does she know what I’m thinking?  And how does she pull things out of me like that? It’s unnerving.  Disarming.

“You know I like spending time with you.” 

“Do I?”

It’s like Chloe is chumming the waters and my prehistoric brain is programmed to do nothing else but take the bait.  There’s no denying the hook through my cheek.

“Well, you should.”    

She cuts the line and lets me loose.  I don’t know if it’s because she’s annoyed with me or if she’s butting up against the wall of what she knows is the truth and it freaks her out a bit.

“I’ll text you about Tuesday.  I don’t think I’m done shooting until around 7 that night, so it might have to be late.  Is that OK?”

“Yeah.  I’ll take a disco nap in between meetings to ward off the jet lag.”

“Sounds good.  Travel safe, OK?”

“Well, that’s really up to the pilot, isn’t it?  

“Becs…”

I snicker.  “I’m looking forward to our…” Is it a date?  Is it purely a business discussion?  I err on the safe side. “…uh, our dinner.”

“Mm-hm.  Me too.  See you next week.” 

She disconnects and I realize that I’ve actually driven really far, but have no recollection of how I’ve gotten there.  Like I’m on auto-pilot. 

This can’t be good.

 


	2. The First Time - Part 2

I’m seated at a table for two at a trendy LA restaurant.  Chloe is about 15 minutes late.  Normally I wouldn’t care, but ever since our call in Friday, it’s been killing me to find out what she needs to talk about.  

Then, there it is – the flash of red.  I blink and she’s standing before me.  Her hair is in loose curls that frame her face.  She’s wearing black jeans that hug her in all the right places and a flowy, blue, off-the-shoulder top that looks like it was made to match her eyes.  She’s not dressed for the Oscars.  She’s not wearing anything designer, but she looks like a dream.  I’m never prepared for how seeing her knocks the wind out of me.

I stand up and she wraps me in a tight hug.  Of course I hug her back and I feel her press into me. Maybe she squeezes a little tighter.  I can’t be sure.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back a bit.

She’s close enough to kiss…you know, if this were a date.  It’s not.

“Hey!  You look…”  My eyes rake over her, up and down. I can’t help it, but I don’t want her to think I’m perving on her, so I pull it together. Somewhat. “Beautiful.” 

Beautiful?  I’m supposed to be a fucking writer and “beautiful” is the only adjective I can serve up in this moment?  She doesn’t look beautiful.  She looks like standing in a field in the middle of nowhere beneath a sky full of stars.  She looks like the sunrise over the ocean when all you can hear are the gulls and the waves.  She looks like puffs of freshly fallen snow.  She looks… like love feels.  But I can’t say any of that to her when we’ve been in the same room less than 10 times.  When we’re in the middle of a restaurant. Those are the kinds of things you say when you’re in bed together, still awake at 2 a.m., tangled in each other, in the sheets, your fingers tracing small circles across her stomach, your lips peppering feather-light kisses across her skin as you listen to her even, steady breaths, and you feel her heart thud in her chest.

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

And then, we sit.  We order. She drinks. We talk. She drinks some more, maybe too much, like she’s trying create a barrier against the inevitable.  I do actually have detailed notes about the music she sent four days ago and we laugh when I actually tell her a bit too loudly that I want to “go balls deep when we shoot the sex scene.”

Before I know it, the waitress brings the check. 

“I’ll get it,” she says, reaching for it.  “I invited you.”

“Which reminds me, you said you had something you wanted to discuss.  Did we talk about it?  Was it going balls deep?”

She giggles.  Dammit.  Totally my fault, but there’s something about making her laugh.  Making her happy.  Even if just for an instant.  Then, she gets serious on me.

She fidgets with her fingers.  It’s distracting.  Nerve wracking.  I put my hand on hers to still them, and I can’t help notice how smooth her skin feels.  She pulls away somewhat sharply, and sits back in her chair.  Suddenly, always-flirty Chloe can’t bring herself to look at me or to say whatever it is she wanted to say.  It’s an unsettling shift.

“Chloe, this is a pretty popular restaurant.  There’s probably a two-hour wait for this table. C’mon, tell me. It’s OK.  It’s just me.”

Chloe takes a deep breath and forgoes any lead in, any build-up.   “I’ve, um, I’ve been thinking about you lately.  A lot.”

The blush that floods her face and chest is fast, washing over her like a wave. She looks up to gauge my reaction, but I don’t know that I really have one.  I’m not sure what the look on my face is, actually.  Inside, my stomach tightens and flips.  But she can’t see that.  So, I wait to see where this goes, though when someone tells you they’re thinking about you, there’s really only one place it can go, right?  And it’s certainly not the “I want you out of my life forever, you piece of shit,” route, is it?

It occurs to me that maybe I wouldn’t have been that far off base answering Chloe honestly four days ago.    

“I guess that’s why I called you the other day,” and finally all the pieces tumble into a more complete whole. “I – I realized I missed you and I wanted to talk to you.  To hear you.  I don’t know. Is all this crazy? It’s weird, isn’t it?”

She laughs at herself and looks down at the napkin in her lap.  

OK, let me get this straight.  This incredibly intelligent, gorgeous woman, a popular actress is sitting across from me – someone she’s only met a handful of times – telling me she thinks about me and apparently not just in the way you think you might want to try scuba diving or dye your hair blue.  What the fuck do I do now?  The only thing I can do: put it out there, just like Chloe did.

“It _is_ weird,” I say, smirking.  I see Chloe’s shoulders fall a bit. “So, I guess I’m just as weird when I tell you that you’ve been on my mind too.  More than  I expected you to be.”

And then, it’s quiet.  Of course it is.  We’ve willingly – or not, depending on how you feel about love and attraction – added a whole new layer of complexity our relationship...or what little of it there was before five minutes ago.   She knows it.  I know it.  

She fiddles with her thumb ring.  I watch her.  She’s still not looking at me, but I know she knows I’m studying her.

“Chloe?” She briefly glances up at me. “Hey, I think we should talk about this a bit more, but here probably isn’t the right place. Should we, maybe – ?”  I hike my thumb in the direction of the exit.

She bites her bottom lip. I want to kiss it.  Oh my god!  I really want to kiss her.  Kiss her senseless, but we’re so far from that right now.  When did that happen?  That feeling wasn’t there the last time I saw her, or when she called me on Friday, or two hours ago when she walked into the restaurant.  Or was it there all along, and her admission just floated it to the surface?

I need to leave here.  It’s suffocating.  The restaurant din is ringing in my ears and my thoughts are bearing down on me like the crushing pressure of being at the bottom of the ocean.  “Where can we go that’s quiet?”

She finally looks at me.  _Finally._ I can see her eyes, but they look different now.  They’re still breathtakingly sinful in all the best ways, but they’re deeper, more soulful now.  Like I’ve been let into some secret club – membership: two.

“Your hotel?” she offers.

Here we go again with this game of ambiguity. She can’t mean…she doesn’t mean.  She’s not asking to go to my room, right?  I laugh for getting so far ahead of myself.  “Sure.  That works.  I’m sure there’s a quiet spot in the lobby or something, right?”

Wrong. 

Apparently the Lakers are playing tonight and the bar might as well be the Staples Center.  Of course.  My luck.

We sit next to each other in two chairs in the lobby, knees nearly touching, but feeling universes apart.  Chloe is worried.  Worried and distracted by the buzz.  She is famous enough to turn heads.  And the people milling around the lobby in some sort of travel purgatory do in fact start to recognize her. 

Here, we’re exposed, way more than at the restaurant where food and alcohol seemed to occupy everyone’s attention.  Here, she’s like injured prey for a camera to flash or for someone to apologize for interrupting, but interrupting anyway to tell her they loved her last movie, when all she wants – all we want – is to sort through whatever we’ve blown open tonight.

Between her being here with me and what we have to discuss, she’s bound to wind up on the cover of some trashy gossip website, the subject of some – not too far flung – speculation.  I don’t want that for her.  Or for us.  If there is even an “us.”

In an effort to be subtle and stay somewhat under the radar of prying eyes and emails to TMZ, I text her:  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe we should go up to my room.  It’s quiet and private.  Up to you.  No pressure.”

She doesn’t hear or feel the buzz of my message – she’s too busy scoping out any paparazzi – so I nudge her foot with mine to get her attention.  She turns and I hold up my phone. 

She pulls her device from her purse.  Its blue light illuminates her smooth skin and I wonder what it feels like to touch it, with my cheek, with my hands, with my lips. I see her body relax, mine does the same, and she nods a quick “yes.”  

The hotel elevator is somehow packed.  You’d think it was opening night of the latest and greatest Hollywood club, with Kardashians in full force.  Chloe is tucked safely and anonymously in the back corner.  I’m next to her.  We assume the typical elevator stance – shoulders hunched slightly forward, eyes down.  When the car empties a bit, I stand up straighter and return my arms to their natural position at my sides.  In doing so, I accidentally brush the back of Chloe’s hand with mine – purely fallout from shifting.  She flinches a bit, like she wasn’t quite expecting the contact, but then I feel her reaching for me, her fingers flexing to find the safe spaces between mine, and I notice her face flush at the contact. 

I squeeze her hand to get her attention. I want her to know I feel her, and I want her to feel me too.  “You OK?” I whisper.

She shrugs, her eyes trained on the floor.  “Too much wine at dinner, I guess.  I just need some water.”

I feel the same heat rising in my face at the exact moment we touch.  And I didn’t drink anything.  I wonder what it means.  More accurately, I know what it means but I wonder where it came from and whether or not I can keep it check.  “OK.  I have some in my room.”

When we step out of the elevator on the 29th floor, neither of us breaks contact and I can finally relish how well our hands fit together.  I lead her down the hall, rubbing what I hope are soothing circles with my thumb over the back of her wrist as we walk.  I’ve always had a thing for hands and hers are perfect, like the rest of her.  Strong, but smooth and soft and feminine.     

Her head is still down as we walk, red tendrils obscuring her face.  She’s quiet, and I think maybe I’m doing the complete and utter wrong thing here, but she’s made no attempts to put an end to whatever this is.  If she were uncomfortable, she’d say so, and I’d stop before she could even finish the sentence.  Desire is bubbling up inside me, but I’m not about to trample any boundaries she doesn’t want crossed to get to her.   

I pause in front of my door as I dig in my back pocket for the key.  Before I swipe it, I give her an out.  “Chloe, I don’t want this to be weird or whatever.  We don’t have to talk here if it’s uncomfortable.  I’m sure we can find some privacy at the studio tomorrow.” 

Her striking eyes dart up to me.  “No, Beca.  No.   It’s OK.  I’m OK.  Just maybe a little overwhelmed.”

I guess I look confused, or maybe disappointed because she rushes to smooth it over. 

“In a good way,” she reassures and smiles.  It’s the first genuine smile I’ve gotten from her since she first dropped that “I’ve been thinking about you,” bomb back at the restaurant and I feel relieved. 

I’m happy she’s happy. 

Oh Christ!  Here we go again.  I’ve never really cared about anyone else’s happiness before. I mean, obviously, I don’t wish ill will on anyone, but I never wanted or needed to be the thing that made anyone else feel safe or cared for.   Now, it appears I might be, and I’m surprisingly OK with it. I can’t help but smile back at her. 

I slip in the keycard and open the door for her to let her in.  I follow behind.  Speaking of ‘behind,’ I try not to notice hers.  It looks incredible in those jeans, which may or may not have been painted on to flaunt all the right places.  It’s almost as if my hand has a mind of its own, reaching out to touch her ass, but I’m able to save it – and the rest of me – from embarrassment by jerking my arm up a few inches so that my hand comes to rest on the small of her back.  I feel her tense a bit and then ease into my touch.

The room is perhaps a slight upgrade from a typical hotel room.  It’s big enough to fit a sectional, a huge TV, and there’s a small bar.  But the crowning glory is floor to ceiling windows that give a great view of downtown LA. 

“Have a seat,” I gesture to the couch. 

She sits and I move to the mini-fridge under the bar to get her water.  I hand the bottle to her and she immediately twists the cap to take swig.

“Feeling better?”  I ask as I sit down next to her. I’m genuinely concerned.

“Mmm, thanks.” She puts the bottle on the table and turns her head to the view outside.  “You’ve got an amazing view out there.”  My eyes follow her as she walks over to stand in front of the windows.

Her back is to me and I can see the gentle ripple of muscle on her back, her shoulders and biceps.  She’s solid, chiseled, but still so curvy and delicate.   

“Yep. I’ve got a pretty good one in here, too.” I smirk at her.

“You're sweet,” she says as she turns her head to face me.

Her response knocks me back.  I thought I gave her the perfect volley to reignite the witty, flirty game we play with each other, but she doesn’t return my serve.  I follow her cue.

“I'm honest.”  

She bites her lip.  “Thank you.”  She turns back towards the window and I can see her back and shoulders tense again. “Beca, I'm sorry for what I said at dinner.”

“Why are you sorry?  Did you not, um, are you…taking it back or something?”

She chuckles.  “I’m not taking it back.  No.  I meant it.  I just - I don’t know.  I was being selfish.”

I’m confused. “How so?”

“If you would ever decide to be me with me, you’re fair game for the cameras and the rumors, and it was selfish for me to have put you in that position.”

If I would ever _decide_ to be with her???  Maybe she’s right.  Maybe she did have too much wine at dinner because I have no idea how she could even think that. Like it’s such a foregone conclusion that I have my pick of beautiful, charming women just throwing themselves at me. 

“And if it – this…” she gestures between the two of us “doesn’t work, I don’t want things to be awkward between us.  I – I really like you, Beca.”

“Chloe, you’re worrying over nothing.  First, how could I _not_ want to be with you?  You’re perfect.”

“That’s a pretty high bar, Beca. I’m not even close to perfect.”

“Maybe not for anyone else, but you are for me.”

“Beca – ” she says softly, but I don’t let her finish.

“Second, I’m in this business too, you know.  I mean, it’s different because you’re so much more visible, but I see what goes on.  I see what you deal with and if I didn’t think I could handle it…if I didn’t want to handle it, well, we wouldn’t be here.  I know what this, us, could mean, and I’m OK with it.”

“You sure?”

She glances back at me waiting for my answer, waiting for confirmation, reassurance.  I don’t respond.  As if looking for something to fill the gap between her question and my answer, she pulls her hair over her shoulder revealing the whole of her beautiful back.  I don’t know what possesses me, but before I know it, my feet are moving on instinct. 

I’m behind her, my hands on her hips and I’m pressing light kisses into her back, tracing along the neckline of her shirt.  I feel her relax under my touch and a soft, contented sigh escapes her lips as she drops her head back onto my shoulder.  I can smell her shampoo – it’s clean, like the beach.  Her fingers intertwine with mine, pulling our arms tighter across her stomach and pulling me closer to her. 

As she does, I feel the front of her shirt cinch up and I flatten the palm of my hand against the warm skin over her taut abs. Her breath quickens – something I feel against me before I hear it.

When she turns in my arms, her eyes dark – nearly black - with desire, I know she wants me to kiss her. Kiss her hard.  But I don’t. Instead, I ghost my lips over her cheeks and her lips.  

It’s slow, maybe even tentative, but the hesitation doesn’t last long. I can see where the night is headed and honestly this wasn’t what I intended.  I really just wanted a quiet place to talk about what we were getting into, and now we’re into it up to our knees.

She’s patient with the teasing at first.  I think I’m the first one to break.  I tighten my hands around her back, linking my fingers to bring her closer to me and I crash my lips into hers.  What starts out as a slow burn, quickly becomes heated.  Our mouths move, hungry for each other, and we’re making out like horny teenagers, panting like we’ve just completed an Ironman, and the night is just getting started…at least I think. 

I swipe her bottom lip with my tongue, asking to deepen the kiss. We tangle together, her kissing back impossibly harder as we sink into each other, into whatever this is.

She breaks the kiss, trailing her fingers down my arms and grasping my hands as she pulls us away from the windows until her legs hit the bed.  She sits, looking up at me, eyes pleading and desperate.  I straddle her leg, bending forward to trace her jaw with my lips before placing open-mouth kisses down her neck to her shoulder.  She smells so good and I can only barely taste the sheen of sweat that’s starting to form.  But I don’t get to enjoy it for long before she takes my face in her hands, pulling me up so that we’re eye to eye.  I can feel her breath on me and I try to kiss her again, but she jerks back.  

“Beca, you can’t leave any marks.  I have to be on set tomorrow.”

“I can leave a mark, Chloe, but only where you and I can see it.”

She smirks. As if not to be outdone by my sudden surge of cockiness, she takes her shirt off, daring me, testing me. I pull her into another kiss, my hand in her hair, toying with the curls at the nape of her neck, and I feel her hands up my shirt, her nails on my back. My tongue meets hers again, hungry for her taste.

With one knee propped on the bed in between her legs, I grip her shoulders to slowly push her back into the mattress. I follow closely behind, landing on top of her, using my arms to support my weight.  Our lips are still connected, deepening our kiss every chance we can.    

Everything around us is soft – the bed, her lips, her tongue, her body. 

Her hair is spread out behind her like waves of molten lava against white sheets, and I’m close enough to her now that I can see the faint sprinkle ginger freckles across her nose and cheeks.  They match those on her chest and her back, I marvel at how she can be both adorable and so fucking hot all at once.

I break the kiss and press my forehead to hers to catch my breath.  

“God, do you even know how fucking gorgeous you are?”  I ask almost rhetorically because no one can legitimately answer that question. There truly are no words for this, for her, for the way I feel about her.

My lips are on hers again and I feel her smile into the kiss as her hands run up and down my back, like electric currents coursing under my shirt. 

I nip at the skin on her neck, respecting Chloe’s caution, but as I make my way down to the swell of her breasts, I let her feel my teeth before soothing over the raw skin with my tongue.

She’s wearing a pale blue bra and I bring my hand up to cup her breast, thumbing over her nipple and making it hard.  She arches her back at the contact and lets out a delicious little moan as her hips press up into mine.  It makes me very eager to hear what other sounds she makes.

I kiss her, tugging at her bottom lip with my teeth, which pulls a sharp gasp from her. Then I sit up so that I can straddle her hips and pull her up to me. I reach around to free her from her bra, looking at her for silent permission to reveal more of her bare, pale skin. 

I too take off my shirt and my bra, throwing both to the floor, and I cradle her back down to the bed.  She pulls at my arms, which are supporting me on either side of her head so that she can lace our fingers together.  Now, the entirety of my weight is on her, and it feels so good to be pressed up against her like this.  All I can feel is the heat radiating off her body, her chest heaving into mine, her breath on my neck.  All I can feel is…Chloe.

I duck my head and trail kisses down her neck and across her chest, slowly sliding down her body until I can close my mouth around her breast. My tongue toys at her nipple and it doesn’t take long until I feel it stiffen between my lips.  She squirms underneath me, whimpering, and cants her hips up, searching for some relief.

“Beca…” she whispers, my name leaving her lips like a prayer.

She releases my hands and immediately there is pressure on my shoulders.  What feels like her pushing me away is really her rolling us, and in the next second she’s hovering over me, her hair tickling my cheeks.  I can feel her hot breath on my neck and on my ear, which only serves to turn me on even more.  She’s nibbling and sucking the skin on my neck, concentrating on my pulse point and drawing a staccato gasp from me.

I reach down and take both of her breasts in my hands, cupping them, squeezing them.    She moans and crawls towards me, settling perfectly in between my legs, her hips on mine. I take her other breast in my mouth, relishing how the pebbled skin feels against my lips.  She looks down between us to watch me flick her nipple with my tongue as I squeeze the other between my thumb and forefinger. The action makes her hips roll into mine.

“Oh, god.” She exhales.

I wrap my arms around her waist and bring her down into me, holding her close and letting her rub herself against me.  If there was any question about whether she wanted this, she answers it clearly when I feel the wet heat pooling between her legs. 

She repeats the action again, and then two or three more times, dipping her hips down and then pressing her center into me, dragging herself up my thigh.

“You feel good?”

She nods. Her eyes are closed, her head is back and her breaths are heavy.  She’s so turned on, and I know she could probably come with just a few more rolls against my leg, but I don’t want her to let go just yet.  I don’t want to let her go just yet, so I sink my fingertips into her hips to still her.

I relinquish the sensitive nipple still in my mouth to suck the supple skin around it, leaving small, but intense marks in my wake. But, as promised, they are tucked away.  Our little secrets, obscured from all those who aren’t in this room tonight.

With one hand, I push her shoulder away to create space between us.   She’s too preoccupied with kissing my neck and my chest to notice that my arm is between us, fingers fumbling with the button on her jeans. 

I’m back to kissing her now as I need both of my hands to free her from her bottoms.  I slide my hands under the loosened waistband and around to her tight ass.  I expect to find cotton or, more likely, silk, but am met with bare skin.  I gasp.  She smiles against my lips, realizing where my hands have gotten to without her noticing.

When she pulls away, laughing, I roll us, pressing her into the mattress once again.  She lifts her hips and I remove her jeans and her thong all at once.  Mine can’t follow fast enough.  

She’s completely naked before me and all I can do take her in.  It’s reverence, awe and maybe the first blushes of love.  Her body is perfect: strong, toned and tanned. Her eyes dark and hooded, and it all serves to make me want her more.  Her lips are so beautifully swollen from our intense kissing.  Even though the room is dark, I can see the flush of her face and chest as well as the red bite marks I’ve left all across her breasts.  Most will vanish before we’re done tonight, but I know one or two will stay.  And I wonder if I will see her this way again and whether they’ll still be there, or whether there will be others I don’t recognize.

I swallow hard.  It’s not anything I’ve thought about until now.  Perfect timing.  Sure, it felt intimate.  Special.   But what are the odds this isn’t just a one-night stand for her?  A good roll in the hay to release some stress?  A love ‘em and leave ‘em, just to try on sex with a girl?  The possibilities are endless. Endlessly disturbing. I swallow hard, trying to let the throbbing between my legs tamp down the strand of regret dangling in my head.

She must sense that my mind is suddenly elsewhere because I feel her fingers on my arm, trailing down my skin and lacing with mine.  She squeezes my hand.

“Beca? Where’d you go?”

“I’m here,” I assure her and squeeze back. “I’m here.”

“OK.  Be here with me, OK?”

I nod and try to shake free from the thoughts that have clouded this moment. 

She licks her lips. I’m not sure if it’s seduction or just habit, but that’s really all it takes to snap me back to reality.  I’m reminded that I really want her tongue. She must read my mind because she grabs the back of my head and pulls me to her, not wasting any time putting her mouth on mine.  

It’s a rough, deep kiss that sends another surge of electricity through my core, and my hips have a mind of their own, grinding against hers. She feels it and pulls me out of the kiss.   

She parts her legs and I sit back on my knees between them. It’s really the first time I’ve looked at her, even though she’s been naked for some time now. 

“Like what you see?”  she quirks an eyebrow.  

She’s freshly waxed.  I can tell when I run my fingers through her tight strawberry blonde curls.  She sighs at the touch, and I have to admit I’m thrilled and somewhat relieved to find out that she’s a natural redhead, so to speak.  So crude, but true.

I lean forward to kiss her once more on the lips as I press my thigh into her, feeling her wet heat.  She inhales sharply, rolling her hips before releasing a moan that starts somewhere deep inside her.  

“You’re soaked,” I say.

“That’s what you do to me,” she husks, her voice suddenly deeper and, if possible, sexier.   

She wraps her legs around my hips, spreading herself for me, allowing me to feel even more of her on me as I rock into her over and over.

“Oh god, Chloe.”

She whimpers at the mention of her name, and I know I need to be closer to her.

She unwinds her legs from me, and I slide down the mattress to lie down in front of her.  

Her thighs are streaked with wetness, and the sheet beneath her is darkened from her bearing down onto it when she wasn’t grinding onto me.

I run my finger up and down her wet folds, careful to avoid where I know she wants me most.  Her eyes lock on mine, flicking from my hand to my mouth as I lick my finger clean and I swear she growls, becoming more desperate under me.  I kiss her, letting her taste herself on my lips. 

“What do you want?  Hmm? Tell me,” I whisper in her ear.  

“I want – I want you to f-fuck me.”

She’s so wet and so open for me. My tongue slides right into her as I reach across her hips with one arm to steady her.  

She tastes so good.  She feels so good.  Jesus Christ.  This is hot.

Her hands are on her breasts, squeezing and rolling her nipples. I think I might combust, not with pure lust, but with disbelief.  I can’t believe that I have gotten her to this point, that she wants me, writhing beneath me, that I’ve turned her on this much, that trusts me this much with her body to let me do these dirty, dirty things to her.   

Her pussy is so swollen and red from the stimulation and I waste no time parting her lips with my free other hand to rub her clit.

“Shit!” she gasps, digging her heels in and jerking away from my hand.  “Sensitive.”

I try to touch her clit again, but before my fingers ever reach her, she flinches. Instead, I put my mouth on her, my tongue flat against her, letting her get used to the pressure.  Slowly and softly, I lick and lap at her before using the very tip of my tongue to massage her.

“That feels so, so fucking good,” she rasps.

She tastes so sweet that I can’t control myself. I put my lips around her and start to suck.  It’s enough to wrench her head off the pillow.

She’s propped up on her elbows and I know she’s watching me.  I glance up at her and catch her eye as I continue to let my tongue and lips play all over her clit. 

She gasps.  “Jesus, Beca. How are you so good at this?”

A particularly forceful suck sends her back down and with one last, long lick, I remove my mouth from her.

Her eyes fly open at the loss of contact and I know she’s ready to ask me why I stopped, but before the words escape her, two fingers are inside.  Two quickly becomes three before she starts meeting my thrusts with her hips, and she’s gripping the sheets like they’re her salvation.

I can’t, don’t want to, look away as I fuck her.  Hard.

She’s so wet that I actually lose the rhythm between us and slip out of her, but she reaches down between her legs and pushes my fingers back into her wet warmth, reigniting her thrusts.

“I’m so close, Beca. Please.”  Her begging is hot, but we’ve been all over each other for nearly two hours, so I have mercy on her.  

I twist my wrist so that my palm hits her clit every time she rocks hard against my hand. I curve my fingers inside her, hitting the spot that will make her see stars.

“I know, Chloe. Let go for me.”  

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was in pain from the way her brow is furrowed, but I know she just needs a sweet, sweet release, and I’m happy to be the one to give it to her.

I bring my thigh into her, behind my hand to create more friction and give her something more solid to thrust against.  She takes full advantage of the increased pressure on her pussy. 

“I need to come,” she whines.

“I know, baby.”

The pet name that leaves my lips surprises me and drives her over the edge.  With just a few more hard thrusts, our bodies moving together, I feel her clench around me.  

She unleashes an unintelligible torrent of groans and curses as she comes, her body tensing and forcing my fingers from her. 

I stay close, pressed against her side, easing her down from her climax before I trail my fingers back up her body. She shivers and I can see the goosebumps in their wake as I make my way back up to her mouth.    

Her eyes are closed and she flinches just slightly I cup her cheek in my hand. I’m propped up on my side and I turn her head so that, face to face, I can kiss her once more.  Our lips and tongues are slower now, less frenetic. Heat is still radiating from her body, but her breath is starting to still and even out.  The heavy air of sex in the room dissipates, replaced with a different kind of intimacy.  

I nuzzle her nose with mine and she opens her devastatingly blue eyes, smiling at me.

“Hi,” I say softly.  

Her hand caresses my face and I take it and kiss her palm before intertwining her fingers with mine and draping them across her stomach.

“That was…” she searches for the word.

“Well, totally unplanned for one”

She nods. “But amazing.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

I roll on to my back and before I know it, she’s on top of me, straddling me.  I can feel her still-wet pussy on my stomach.

“But I’m going to do you one better.”  That cocky streak is back, and it turns me on even more than I already am.

She reaches down between her legs and spreads her lips so that she can rub more of herself on me.  

Watching this has to be the hottest fucking thing I think I’ve ever seen.  Frankly, I could probably come just from this, but she has other plans for me.

I watch her arm disappear behind her and suddenly, I feel fingers circling my clit timed perfectly to the rock of her hips.

My whole body rolls into her touch, which is so slow at first that it’s actually more frustrating than it is pleasurable, but I give myself an internal pep talk to just relax and let her do her thing.

I’m already so turned on that it’s not going to take much to get me to come and I think she might prove me right when she moves to straddle my chest, stroking my nipple with her clit.

“Oh shit!” I reach down between my legs to try to find some relief, but she bats my hand away.

“Let me take care of you, Beca.”

She slides her pussy back down my stomach to center herself on me and she starts to thrust. I had no idea Chloe could be like this.

The heat between her legs is slick and soft.  I push my hips up into her, savoring the pressure. 

“Do you think you can come like this?”

I’m so close that she could probably tell a “Knock Knock” joke right now and I’d lose it, but I don’t want to let go of this feeling.

“Yes, but I don’t want to yet.”

She smiles, seemingly to only herself, but I’m staring into her eyes, into her face and I can’t not notice it.

I reach up and caress her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs, bringing her down to kiss me.  “What’s so funny, hmm?”

“Nothing. I just – I don’t think I expected you to feel the same way.”  She’s leaning forward, her hands on my stomach, rolling her hips against me.

“And wha- what do you think now?”

“That I really, really want to fuck you,” she breathes out.

“What’s stopping you?”

She slips a finger inside.  “God, Beca.  You’re so fucking tight.”  I shift my hips, rocking against her hand a few times as she fucks me.  It’s slow and sensual, but she knows I need more.

I feel her pat my thigh.  “Trade places.”  And before I know it, her finger is gone.  Instead, she positions herself under me. 

“I want my mouth on you.”

I straddle her and she wraps her arms around the backs of my thighs, pulling me down into her. 

My arms fall to the headboard for support and she’s letting me grind my clit on her tongue, while her hands reach up to my breasts.  She squeezes, sending a moan through me and I feel her pulling gently at my nipples, rolling them between her thumbs and forefingers.   

Her teeth lightly graze my clit before she sucks on me and then, there’s the feeling of her tongue inside me.  All of those sensations combined send my hips into overdrive and she grips my waist to steady my rhythm.

But she doesn’t relent.  Instead, she brings her hand down to finger my clit and I feel myself tighten around her.

“Chloe, I – I’m going to…”   

I rock my hips hard.  Once, twice and she wraps her arm around me to steady me as I climax.

“That’s it,” she says softly. “So good. So fucking good.”

My spent body drapes over hers, and I can feel her nails on my back, lightly trailing up and down. I shiver and then sigh into her neck before peeling away to the other side of the bed.  She follows, rolling on to her side, her head propped up on her hand.

I loll my head to the right to look at her. “You OK?” I ask as I reach over to tuck a wayward strand of red hair behind her ear.  

“A little better than OK.”

“Just a little? I guess I better practice for next time, huh?”

“That’s presumptuous of you.” And she goes and does it again.  Even after all that, her words can still stop me short and snare me in doubt.  I don’t know if she notices the confusion in my face, but when she laughs it suddenly lightens the space between us and everything feels OK again.  “Who’s going to give you pointers, Beca?  Should I be jealous?”

I smile back at her, happy that I could, if I want to, tell her there is absolutely no one else.  In a room full of people, all I can see is her.

Still on her side, she drops her head to the pillow and I trace her lips with my fingers.  Her eyes are heavy with sleep and her breathing starts to even out.  Before I know it, I doze off, too.  I don’t know how long I’m out, but I’m brought back by the feeling of the bed shifting and I open an eye to see Chloe, gathering her clothes that are scattered around the room.

“Chloe?”  She freezes at the sound of my voice.  “What are you doing?” I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.  

“Um, I was going to – uh – get dressed and try to…” she nods toward the door.  

“You’re leaving?”  I don’t mean it to sound as needy as it does.

“I mean, it’s late so I thought maybe I could escape without the cameras, you know?”

“Oh yeah.  Yeah, of course.  That makes sense.”  I repeat in my head the word she used.  Escape?  Does she feel like she has to run from me? I don’t want that for her.  I want her to feel loved and wanted, and I want to be the one to give her that.

She pauses by my side of the bed on her way to the bathroom, as if that’s my unwritten cue to stop her.  I grab her hand and I pull her back down to me.  We’re face to face and she looks relieved that I’ve diverted her path.

“Chloe, please tell me you didn’t feel pressured to do…this tonight.  Be honest.”

She shakes her head “no.”  “You were incredible, Beca.  And I don’t just mean…this,” she gestures to tangle of bedsheets next to me. “But with everything.”

“So continuing on this honesty streak, do you really want to leave?  Because, if I’m being straight with you, I don’t want you to go.  I’d love to spend the night…well, what’s left of it…with you.”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.  I sit up, caressing it with the pad of my thumb before I give her a chaste kiss.

I think back to last night – god, it doesn’t seem like it was only last night – at the restaurant when I had to suppress my urge to do that.

“Do you really want to go?”  I ask softly.

“Do you really want me to stay?” with a slight level of disbelief in her voice.

“Of course, I do.”

“It’s not necessarily a given, Beca.”

“What do you think I am, Chlo?  What did you think this was?” 

I cup her cheek in my hand and she leans into it, but she doesn’t respond so I take it upon myself to answer my own question.  “This wasn’t just a one night stand for me. Was it for you?”

“Uh-uh,” she says quietly.

“Then stay. Can’t Erin find a way to get you out of here in the morning?”

Before she can respond, I roll over and pick up her phone from the night stand on the other side of the bed.  Chloe takes it from me and starts tapping out an email.  I get out of bed and walk over to my suitcase, tossing her a t-shirt of mine to put on.

Within seconds her phone rings.  “It’s Erin” she says to me and then, “Hey” into the phone.

She gets up and goes into the bathroom shutting the door behind her and I flop back down on the bed, draping my arm over my eyes as if to block out the insecurity that comes bounding back. It shouldn’t, but it does.  I can hear Chloe’s end of the muffled conversation. I can’t make out the words, but the tone is rushed and worried.  It could be plea to get Erin to help her leave, or one to make it possible for her to stay.    

And then I hear the bathroom door open.  I catch the smell of the ocean wafting by me before I feel the other side of the bed sink down with her weight and her curling into my side.  I instinctively wrap my arm around her, tracing intricate patterns on her shoulder and arm as she lies next to me with her head is tucked under my chin and her breath on my chest.

“Everything good?”

I feel her nod against me.

“What’s up?”

She rolls on to her stomach to look at me, and her shirt (my shirt) rides up a bit so I can see the dimples right above her ass.  Dammit.  How does she just keep getting cuter and sexier?

“Erin is going to have a car for me out front at 7:30 with a change of clothes, and I’ll go right to the set.”

“And the paparazzi?”

“She’s concocting some story about how my apartment is undergoing repairs and I’m staying at the hotel for, um, a few days,” her face breaking into her signature bright smile that literally lights up the room.

The underlying intent of Erin’s – or is it Chloe’s? - plan almost goes over my head, but I catch it just in time and quirk my eyebrow at her.  “A few days?”

I roll on to my side to face her and begin to rub her back.  Her arms are crossed under her head and she’s looking up at me.  I’m almost certain she’s gotten even more beautiful, with her sleepy eyes and her messy, just-had-sex hair.

“Yeah…” She pauses at my touch, “Mmm…nice.  You’re here until Friday, right?”

I nod.

“Then so am I.”

She props herself up on her elbows and cranes her neck forward to kiss me.  I bring my hand up from her back to cup her cheeks.  She swipes her tongue on my bottom lip and I immediately sink back at the feel of her warm mouth on mine. 

We kiss and kiss until the need for oxygen – nothing else – forces us apart.  And even that is just temporary.


End file.
